


Remember it's my heart you're breaking

by thislooksimportant



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-01-25 19:45:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18581347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thislooksimportant/pseuds/thislooksimportant
Summary: “For fuck’s sake, Fred.” Roger ran his hand down his face and shook his head, his voice soft and so unlike his. The feeling in Freddie’s stomach only doubled, swirling streams of dread and guilt twirling together and rising into his throat. “That’s not the fucking book, is it?”“What?” Freddie closed the book and turned it over in his hands. “It’s full of songs, darling. What are–”“I don’t give a shit! You weren’t meant to bring the purple one.”Freddie kept his eyes on the notebook in his hand, a rock forming around his heart and cutting off his breath as his mind flashed back. He remembered finding it and laughing at how Roger couldn’t tell the difference between the actual colour of the book and the colour he thought it was.“Blue, Fred. I said fucking blue.”ORFreddie picks up the wrong notebook and, as a result, sings a song that was never meant to be heard.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to wait and post this as a one-shot, but I also wanted to be the 700th work for this pairing lol.
> 
> This can be read as a modern AU or as Queen were, but I might be playing fast and loose with the song titles when they come up later on if you read it as a canon universe.

“Rog, darling. Please hurry up!” There was a bang and a curse and Freddie rolled his eyes. Typical bloody Roger. “We were meant to be in the studio twenty minutes ago.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Roger cried in response, the sounds of his feet running around his bedroom thundering down the hallway to Freddie. He spared a moment to think of their poor neighbours underneath them, but it was cut short as he screamed again.

“Roger!”

“Ah, crap.” There was a loud crash followed by a few smaller crashes and Freddie pressed his lips together. “Fuck, fuck, fucking _ow!_ Just go, Fred. I’ll meet you there in a bit. I’m so sorry. I swear I’ll be there.”

“It’s alright,” Freddie said, a smile slipping onto his face, fondly exasperated with his nightmare of a best friend. They’d had a late night and their dreadful flat was falling apart around their ears, only heightened whenever they were in a rush. Such as that morning.

“I was up late finishing that song for you, though,” Roger shouted over the sounds of drawers opening and closing. “Where are – ah, got it! Stayed up even later after that bastard meeting. It’s the blue notebook on the coffee table if you want to take it with you. You can show them – ouch! – show them first before I get there.”

Freddie lit up at the words. Roger had been promising him new material for weeks, but he kept pushing the dates back on when he would show them. The drummer really had a talent, though he tried to hide it away, and Freddie couldn’t wait to read his new lyrics. The prospect of tweaking them and vocalising the harmonies with his best friends late into the night thrilled him and it made up for the fact that he’d run out of toilet paper and broken their kitchen table already that morning.

“Where?” Freddie called out, his brow furrowing as he approached the coffee table but saw no notebook. “Where did you say it was?”

“It’s on the table. Or maybe on the sofa. Somewhere down there,” Roger assured him, voice a little muffled now. He was no doubt pulling on some clothes and Freddie wasn’t about to stop him to make his voice clearer, not if they wanted to get to the studio at any time before dark. “I had it last night. It’s blue.”

Freddie shook his head as he hunted around. He should have been used to Roger after so many years of living together, but it was still a challenge on some days. Finally, down on his knees and cursing the day he agreed to move in with Roger Taylor, his fingers closed around the edge of a notebook shoved unceremoniously under the sofa. Letting out a victorious noise, Freddie pulled it out. He rolled his eyes yet again when he saw it in the full light of day.

 _Blue_ , Roger had said. What a fool. The cover of the book was a beautiful shade of purple, a pale lavender to be exact. Freddie fell in love instantly, both with the shade and the promise of what it contained, but as he went to open it he caught sight of his watch.

“Crap! Roger, darling, I really have to go. I’ve got the book, okay? And my keys. Try not to be too late. _Please._ ”

 

//

 

Freddie held up his hand in an apology as he stumbled into the studio, panting ever so slightly and his scarf hanging off one shoulder lopsidedly.

“Sorry, sorry,” he murmured, shedding his coat and bag as he headed over to the piano, trying hard not to disturb Brian tuning his guitar on the drum rise.

“You’re late,” John commented lightly. “Everything okay?”

“Yes,” Freddie muttered distractedly as he searched in his bag for Roger’s notebook. “Yes, sorry, darling. We’re just running late. We had a meeting about the stall last night that ran into the night with the owners of the Market and then the shower started leaking this morning. Oh, and I also broke the table. A complete nightmare, don’t even ask. I have absolutely no idea how we’re going to fix that and I swear the whole bathroom will be flooded by the time we get home. Rog is still trying to get ready, bless him. He’ll be here in about half an hour, I’d imagine.”

John rolled his eyes with a fond smile as he set down his bass. “Of course he is. Did you call your landlord?”

“Yeah.” Freddie yawned and lifted his hand to wave to Brian when the other man finished with his guitar. “He can’t get to the shower until tomorrow, though. Didn’t mention the table, either. Can we shower at yours tonight?”

“Course you can, Fred. You know you don’t have to ask. Just come round later; both of you can use it.”

Brian wandered over to Freddie and clasped his hand on his shoulder. “Morning, Fred. Did you bring the new lyrics?”

“Of course that’s all you want,” Freddie retorted, poking his finger in Brian’s side. “But yes, I have them. Bloody nightmare trying to get the book from him though. I tell you, we really need to get him to start wearing glasses. Bri, please try and convince him before he loses his sight completely. Or drives me insane.”

Freddie opened the notebook and looked down at it, warmed from head to toe by Brian’s fond smile. Nothing ever seemed so bad when Brian May was around.

“Anyway, I don’t think he’s written out your parts though. He said he had, but I can’t see any in what I have here. How about I’ll start and you just join in? Pick it up? You should be able to do that; it seems pretty straight forward, even without a drum beat at the moment.”

“Sure.” Brian squeezed Freddie’s shoulder and squinted to look at the words.

John perked up in interest. “Is this Rog’s new song then?”

“Mm. One of them, at least. He finished it last night. I thought he’d only done the one he told us about last week, but this notebook is almost full. We’ll start at the beginning – I started learning it on the tube on the way here.” Freddie shuffled on the piano stool and stretched his arms, cracking his knuckles and rolling his neck. “All ready? It’s in G.”

//

_“Your arms were made to hold me,_

_Your lips meant for mine._

_My eyes light up when you walk into a room,_

_Your smile so divine._

_I love to be with you and walk by your side,_

_To pretend you love me, that you are mine._

_Because I belong to you, completely and wholly,_

_Brian, I am–”_

Freddie’s fingers froze on the keys as his voice trailed off. He winced at a particularly loud and high-pitched scratch from Brian’s guitar, but he didn’t turn around. There was silence in the studio, thick enough to be cut with a knife. The last line of the song hung in the air around them, ringing in all of their ears.

“Did – I’m sorry,” John cleared his throat and coughed, clearly unsure of what to say. “Did you just say _Brian?_ ”

Freddie nodded. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, no sound coming out. He poked his tongue out to wet his lips. “Yes. Yes, I think I did. In fact, I’m pretty sure I did.”

He squinted at the lyrics in front of him once more, but they didn’t change. They definitely still said _Brian,_ in that clear and distinct handwriting that had written one of the loveliest songs Freddie had sung in a long time.

“Oh.” Brian cleared his throat and there was the sound of him struggling with guitar strap for a while before another small cough. “Look, Fred, I – don’t get me wrong, I… I don’t see; you and I just, _shit_.”

Freddie rolled his eyes and finally spun on the stool to face his friends. Though he couldn’t see the notebook anymore, it was still burning a hole in his back and he could see the lyrics clear as day in his mind’s eye. “I didn’t write it, did I? You daft sod. It’s one of…”

When Freddie trailed off with his eyebrows lifted in challenge, the others realised what they’d been playing, their eyes lighting up with recognition and their mouths falling open.

“It’s Roger’s,” John breathed and Freddie nodded slowly.

“Yes. Yes, it fucking well is.”

Freddie was nearing a panic; he could tell that much about himself. Roger had given him this notebook with his permission to show the band his new song, but surely he hadn’t meant for this? And what if Brian didn’t feel the same way?

Freddie had suspected from the first time he’d seen _Smile_ perform that there had been something between Brian and Roger, but when he’d joined them and formed _Queen,_ he’d seen Roger spend every night of the week in a different girl’s bed and had watched Brian move from heterosexual relationship to heterosexual relationship. Even when he’d come out, neither of the other band members had been prompted to confess anything about themselves and whenever Freddie brought it up with Roger, the man just laughed as if Freddie had told the funniest joke in the world. More often than not, Roger would stumble straight over to Brian to share the joke and they’d all laugh together as though Freddie was completely out of his mind.

Maybe Freddie was the only one who ever noticed the way that Brian’s arms would fall to Roger’s hips to steady him when he drank, or how Brian always seemed to know what mood Roger was going to spend the day in. Freddie also clocked how Brian was the first person that Roger would hug after a gig, the first person to get a high-five after they finished recording a song, or even the first person that Roger would seek out when he was sleepy and wanted a nap partner.

When John had first joined them, he’d taken Freddie off to one side and asked if there was a band relationship that he needed to be made aware of and Freddie had relished in the revelation that he wasn’t the only person to have noticed the connection between their drummer and guitarist.

This, though, he really hadn’t seen coming. Sure, he’d watched Roger pine from afar, but he had never thought that Roger would ever have made a move.

Well, technically Freddie had made the move for him.

 

Before anyone could say anything else or Freddie could lose himself even deeper in his thoughts, the door to the studio swung open and Roger stepped through. The smile dropped from his face as his eyes flitted between the three other men. It was pretty obvious to notice that something had happened, Freddie couldn’t help but note, given that John’s mouth was near the floor and Brian had turned the colour of snow. It was quite alarming, actually, and Freddie watched as his skin seemed to pale even further with the appearance of Roger.

“What’s happened? What did I miss?”

Freddie swallowed and tried to plaster on a smile. It felt weak on his face and he felt his heart sink as Roger’s mouth twisted. “Nothing, darling. We were just going through one of your songs.”

Roger’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as he walked further into the room, moving over to hover by the side of the piano. “Which one? I worked pretty hard on those ones. What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing,” Freddie said back almost immediately. He wasn’t really sure what was going to happen if Roger found out what they’d all just heard. But then again, he’d written the songs and given Freddie the book to take to the rest of the band. He must have known what was going to happen. “It was wonderful, blondie.”

“Well, something was obviously wrong with it. Brian looks like he’s about to collapse and John’s close to fucking tears. It seriously can’t have been that bad. What didn’t you like?”

“No,” John said quickly, swallowing when Roger’s eyes shot to his. “It was great, Rog, honestly. Very emotional – not like your usual stuff.”

“Emotional? Really? That’s why you look like you’re about to shit yourself, sure.” Roger’s eyebrows hit the ceiling and he looked back down to Freddie. “Jesus Christ, Fred. You can’t have sung it that badly.”

“Well, yeah. It was about–”

“Love.” Brian finally spoke and Roger’s head span round to stare at him at an almost-painful speed. Freddie couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes hardened and his hands clenched at his sides. “I didn’t know you had it in you. It was very… a lot more, well… open, than your other stuff.”

“No car fucking,” Freddie chimed in, desperate to lighten the mood as much as he could. He had a horrible feeling stirring in his chest and he could feel an explosion coming.

“Love? I didn’t give you a…” Roger trailed off and turned to Freddie slowly, eyes narrowed and dangerous, clearly ignoring his attempt at distraction. “What exactly was it called?”

“I don’t know.” Freddie grabbed the book from behind him and flicked back a couple of pages, squinting at the tops of the pages quickly. “It doesn’t have a name.”

“For fuck’s sake, Fred.” Roger ran his hand down his face and shook his head, his voice soft and so unlike his. The feeling in Freddie’s stomach only doubled, swirling streams of dread and guilt twirling together and rising into his throat. “That’s not the fucking book, is it?”

“What?” Freddie closed the book and turned it over in his hands. “It’s full of songs, darling. What are–”

“I don’t give a shit! You weren’t meant to bring the _purple_ one.”

Freddie kept his eyes on the notebook in his hand, a rock forming around his heart and cutting off his breath as his mind flashed back. He remembered finding it and laughing at how Roger couldn’t tell the difference between the actual colour of the book and the colour he thought it was.

“Blue, Fred. I said fucking _blue._ ”

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, this fic was meant to be like 3k words long. Then it was meant to have 3 chapters. Now... who the fuck knows? Angst tho. Definitely angst.

There was a long silence after Roger stormed out. The tension seemed to take over the whole room, filling it from corner to corner and making it hard to breathe. Freddie didn’t know what to say as his gaze flickered between John and Brian. It was definitely all his fault and the weight of the guilt was making tears bubble up in his throat. How was he ever going to come back from this; how was Roger ever going to trust him again?

Though Freddie had started singing the song on the tube, he hadn’t gotten past the first page. He was too focused on the tune and the way that he could tweak it to better suit his range than actually learning the words and, in his haste, he had revealed his best friend’s deepest secret. And fucked everything up. Literally _everything_. The band might not even survive what Freddie had just inadvertently done. Freddie didn’t think he’d know what to do if he was in Roger’s position, but he knew that it would be virtually impossible to come back from.

John’s eyes were wide as he stood unmoving, his brain clearly trying to process what had just happened. Brian was staring at the door as though it was about to attack him, though the tiniest bit of colour had come back into his cheeks.

“Well.” Freddie swallowed when the word cracked as it passed his lips and coughed, mouth dry. “I... I don’t know what to say. And that is a definite first for me.”

John, ever the diplomat, smiled softly, though it went nowhere near his eyes. “I think one of us should go after Roger.” He set down his bass and held up his hand when Freddie stood up from the piano stool. “And I think it should be me. After all, I wasn’t the one who spilt his secret, was I?”

Freddie deflated and sat back down with a nod. John’s words hadn’t been said with cruelty in the slightest, but they still stung. He honestly hadn’t meant to do it – he would _never_ have done that.

“Tell him I didn’t mean to, won’t you? I honestly thought I got the right book. I couldn’t see any other one, and you know how blind Rog is. I… fuck, John, I swear I could never–”

“I know, Fred. And Roger will know that too. He’s just–,” John looked over at Brian and his smile fell. He shrugged and let out a sigh. “He needs to not be here right now.”

“I...” Brian trailed off and his mouth closed as he seemed lost for words. “I didn’t–”

“I know.” John clapped his hand onto Brian’s shoulder and gave it a soft squeeze, no doubt taking comfort from the action as much as giving it. “I know.”

 

 

  
//  


 

 

 

“Hey, Rog.”

Roger didn’t flinch as he heard the soft footsteps approach him and a familiar voice call out his name. He blinked, coming out of his own thoughts slowly, but made no notion of turning around in greeting.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

John pulled out the barstool next to Roger and sat down. When John pushed up his sleeves and winced at the stickiness on the bar, Roger took a sip of his beer to hide his small smile. Of course it would have been John to come after him, to follow him into the pub on the other side of town from their flats. It had been a good couple of hours, so either they’d all had a band meeting after he’d left or John had had no idea where Roger had run off to. Roger really hope that it was the latter as he couldn’t stand the idea of his three best friends discussing his unplanned confession behind his back. His smile fell and he took another mouthful of his beer.

They were quiet for a long while before the barman came over to ask John for his order. He turned to Roger and pointed at the beer in his hand.

“What are you drinking?”

“Tap lager,” Roger replied, placing his glass back down on the bar top softly.

“Want another?”

Roger was so, _so_ grateful that it had been John to follow him. “Yes, please.”

Roger tuned John out as he turned back to order, his eyes dropping to watch as drops of condensation dripped down the side of his glass to merge onto a puddle on the wood. John would be the one to give him the space that he needed, the one who would step back and let Roger take the time to arrange his thoughts before expecting him to talk.

They fell silent for another long time, long enough for the barman to pour two pints and for John to finish half of his. Roger trailed his finger through the ever-growing puddle, dragging a few drops into a swirl on the dark wood before he finally took a deep breath and spoke. 

“I told Freddie to take the blue book.” His voice was soft and he kept his eyes locked downwards. He was tempted to leave it at that, really. There was no way he was going to spill his guts in the dingy pub he’d stumbled into, in the run-down place with the hole in the wall from a fight that hadn’t yet been patched up and the drunks in the corner snoring over a wobbly table.

But he’d also been keeping a lot to himself lately and the chance to finally talk it all out with someone who actually knew who he was talking about was an opportunity that Roger hadn’t had before.

“I’d been working on a few songs,” he finally continued, keeping his eyes down. “Not about... they were about a lot of things, but nothing emotional. Not like that one, anyway. There’s one about mothers and sons, one about living up to expectations and growing up to be more than you are. There’s one about how much I fucking love sleep, for fuck’s sake. I don’t do love songs, I never have. You know that. _I_ know that.”

John was silent and Roger had never been more grateful. He had a lot of stuff to work through in his mind and he wasn’t sure where he was meant to go now. How much of it was John really going to want to hear? How much of it did Roger really want to talk about? Before he spoke again, he took another sip of his beer. He wished he was drinking vodka straight from the bottle, wished that he could drown himself in alcohol and let a wave of blissful ignorance drag him down.

“I don’t know where it came from,” Roger continued instead, digging out a loose bit of skin around one of his cuticles on his left hand. “The one you heard. Well, any of them, really. I just started writing and then I couldn’t stop. Everything I’d been keeping bottled up just spilled out of me when I sat down with my notebook. Thought it would be a good idea for me to keep a book just for those songs. Avoid awkward moments, you know? And look how that turned out.”

John took a sip of his beer and licked his lips thoughtfully. “How long?”

Roger scoffed. “Jesus. I have no idea.” He took another long drink and sighed. Tonight was about letting himself feel for the first time in a while, he reminded himself. “No, that’s not true. It’s been years. Ever since _Smile_.”

“Really?” Roger shrugged at John’s incredulous tone. It was true that he’d hid it well. Nobody would ever have been able to see that Roger’s feelings went deeper than friendship – a very strong, bonded-for-life kind of friendship, mind you. “And you never said anything?”

“What was I meant to do, John? I was a teenager with a crush on his best friend. His _straight_ best friend, at that. And that wouldn’t have been so bad because I’d have only lost him, but then we met you and Fred and we started _Queen_. We became an actual thing and suddenly there was so much more on the line.”

“You would never lose us, Rog,” John said almost immediately and Roger couldn’t help but smile softly. “No matter what, you’re not going to lose us. You’re a twat and you make me so mad at times, but I’m still here aren’t I?”

Roger huffed a weak laugh at that and nodded into his beer. “Yeah, I guess so. But I thought I could handle it, anyway. I thought it would go away if I ignored it. If I drank it away or slept with a hundred different girls in a hundred different cities, I could pretend I was okay. Or guys, actually. There have been some of those.”

To his credit, John hid his surprise well. He’d already heard one shocking and unexpected confession so that one couldn’t have been too much of a shock, but Roger was still impressed that John managed to school his features impressively quickly. 

“Yeah, you didn’t see that one coming, did you? I kept it hidden, but they were there. They weren’t Brian though, and that somehow made everything worse. A thousand times worse,” Roger added with a sniff, turning his eyes back towards the barman as he signalled for two more pints, even though John wasn’t even halfway through his.

When he’d ordered, he slumped even further over the bar, fingers still picking at his skin. “I don’t know why I thought it would make things better. I guess I thought I could pretend that whoever I was with was actually Brian, but that never worked. I only fell more and more in love every time I noticed that their legs weren’t as long or their hair wasn’t the right shade. I spent half the fucking night lying awake hating whoever was snoring next to me for being nothing but themselves. And then whenever I woke up alone, knowing that if I’d been with Brian then he would have made sure he was there when I… well. It just sucked. Every time. And then every day I seemed to fall a little more in love with him, with every new guitar solo or every new song he wrote. Fucking hell, any time we argued or he laughed at me for doing something stupid. Just, just fucking _Brian_ , I guess.”

Roger toasted the barman in thanks when the man set down his new drink and swapped him for his now-empty glass.

“So that’s why you wrote ‘Mine’?”

“Mine?”

“Oh, that’s what I think the song should be called,” John said with a small shrug when Roger turned to him with raised eyebrows. He licked a little bit of foam off his top lip before he continued. “The one that we did this morning. It was beautiful, Rog, honestly. It was about–”

“Yeah, I think I know the one,” Roger cut in sharply. “I know what it’s about.”

“Well,” John said into the sudden silence, “I liked it.”

Roger smiled weakly, a coldness suddenly wrapping round his body. “You would.”

“Yeah.” John chuckled, twisting his hands in front of him. “I suppose it is my kind of song, isn’t it?”

Roger grabbed his next pint and drank nearly half of it in one go, trying desperately hard not to think about why that was. John was a very romantic man and if he’d connected with the song, then that very obviously meant that it was a soul-bearing and understandable one. 

“Surprised you went with lager,” John piped up after another moment of quiet. The subject change was welcomed, but Roger knew the conversation wasn’t over. “I kind of expected to have to pick you off the floor.”

“I wanted to retain some sort of sobriety,” Roger said with a shrug, wincing after another long gulp. “Figured I wanted to remember the rejection than have to relive it tomorrow.”

“Whose rejection?”

Roger opened his mouth to reply before he thought for a moment more. “Good point. Brian’s for sure. But all of yours, I guess.”

John rolled his eyes so hard that Roger was almost impressed.

“Idiot.”

 

//

 

“Are you going to come back?”

“Are you joking?” Roger trailed his finger through the small puddle on the wood again, transfixed by the patterns it was forming, and let out a humourless laugh. He hung his head and swallowed. “Not only is he my best friend, but he’s also my bandmate. And now he knows that I’m arse over tit in love with him and we can’t even pretend that I’m not because you and Fred heard it too. In song form. At a studio rehearsal. So the studio manager probably heard it as well. Jesus.”

“Rog, it’s not that bad. We don’t care–”

“It is!” Roger turned and stared at John with wide-eyes, not trying to mask his expression for once. “It is that bad, John. This… I don’t care if you don’t care. _I_ care. I’m fucking furious with Fred – God, I could kill him – but I’m so much angrier at myself. Don’t you get it?”

Roger took a breath and his shoulders slumped in defeat, the fight draining out of him in a way that was horribly unusual. “Brian is everything to me. He really is, John. I love you and Fred, I do, and I love Queen and I love playing. Performing, touring, girls, booze. All of it. But I would give it up in a heartbeat if he asked me to. And that is so scary, John. It’s terrifying, because what if he does? What if after this, he asks me to leave?”

Roger swallowed again and held John’s gaze. He wasn’t sure he liked this whole honestly thing he had going on. “I would. I’d go, if he asked. I’d do anything if it was Bri asking me. He is all I need, John. You don’t know how much it scares me. Petrifies me. He has the power to break me and now…”

“He wouldn’t.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s _Brian,_ ” John said. “This is Brian we’re talking about. Brian May, right? He would never do anything to hurt you. Rog, come on. You know he wouldn’t.”

Roger’s hand shook and he couldn’t listen to John’s words. God, he needed a cigarette. He had been trying to cut back – for Brian’s sake, funnily enough – but he was desperate. He pushed himself off his stool and went outside, John close on his heels. Roger’s hands started to shake even more as he fumbled for a cigarette, holding it between his lips to light it. He cursed as the lighter flickered a few times before going out and he was about to throw it down in anger when John reached out with slow movements. Keeping his arm in Roger’s line of vision, he flicked his own lighter on, its flame standing proud. Roger leant in ever so slightly and let John light his cigarette, taking a deep drag before quirking his lips into a grateful smile.

The feeling of the smoke filling his lungs had Roger’s tense body deflating slightly and he finally felt like he could relax. Only an inch, but it was something. The familiarity of the routine – lifting and breathing and blowing out a cloud of smoke – calmed him, soothed him, almost.

John stayed by his side, smoking his own cigarette slowly. His movements were less frantic than Roger’s and he leant against the wall as Roger paced up and down the small alleyway they were in.

“You’re an idiot.”

Roger came to a halt and whirled around to glare at John. “Wow. Thanks, Deacs. Kick me when I’m down, why don’t you?”

“If you think that Brian would ever care about this, would ever hate you for something that you can’t even control, then yes, Rog, you are an idiot.”

“Really?” Roger said incredulously, his glare hidden by the smoke that passed his lips. “So you’d react well if your best friend wrote you a fucking love song?”

“Well, I wouldn’t shun him,” John snapped back immediately. “What are you expecting him to do?”

“I don’t know,” Roger cried angrily, his eyes flashing and cheeks flushed. “I don’t fucking know. I just – I can’t lose him. John, I can’t _not_ have Brian in my life. I can’t.”

John waited in silence until Roger threw away the stub of his cigarette and reached for another one, his hands still shaking but not as violently as they had been. Roger sighed and pouted at John until the other man rolled his eyes and reached for his lighter again.

“I thought you were meant to be quitting,” John muttered under his breath, but dutifully lit his friend’s cigarette. They stood in silence for a moment again, the air around them thick with smoke, until John cleared his throat. “You’re not thinking very highly of him,” John commented lightly.

“Ever the pessimist, me,” Roger replied cheerfully, his smile bright and fake.

“People are unpredictable.”

“Brian May?” Roger said with a scoff, his hair falling over his face like a curtain, hiding him from view. “Black coffee with one sugar, eggs for breakfast, clogs and shirt wearing Brian May?”

John let out a small chuckle and reached out to grab Roger’s arm, pulling him back to lean next to John against the cold brick wall. They smoked in silence for a while until John reached his filter. He flicked the cigarette away, both of them watching a few hot embers break away and dance on the dark floor.

“Is he freaked out?”

Roger blew out another thick haze of smoke as John turned towards him. Keeping his eyes on the wisps as they hung in the cool air, he had to admit he felt calmer.

“I don’t know,” John finally said softly, not having to ask who Roger was talking about. “He didn’t say much and I chased after you pretty quickly. He was ready to follow you, though. I doubt he’d have offered to come if he never wanted to see you again.”

“Unless he was going to tell me to leave him the hell alone and get my shit out of his house.”

John opened his mouth to reply before he hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah, actually. That’s a good point. I suppose he could have been coming for that.”

Roger’s jaw practically hit the floor. “Aw, gee, Deacy,” he drawled scathingly, “you’re a real good friend.”

“It’s why you keep me around.”

Roger rolled his eyes and fell silent again as he finished his second cigarette, keeping his eyes on the stick as it got shorter and shorter in his hand. “You don’t really think he was coming to tell me he never wants to hear from me again, do you?”

John softened and reached out to cup Roger’s shoulder, squeezing it softly. “Of course I don’t. Brian without you is like Brian without curly hair. It’s unnatural and it hurts to even think about.”

Roger gave a tiny quirk of his lips. “Thanks, Deacy. I really am glad it was you that came here tonight.”

“Anytime.” John smiled and tilted his head to the pub door. “You ready to face the music?”

Roger’s face paled alarmingly quickly and John squeezed his shoulder again, changing his tune quickly. “And by music, I of course mean the bar for another pint.”

“Make it a vodka and you have yourself a deal.”

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> As ever, my usual warnings of fiction and keeping this work away from any real-life characters mentioned apply!!


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